


You Won't Lose Me

by 13atoms (2Atoms)



Category: The Great (TV 2020)
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Orlo is a stressed out bureaucrat, Short, reassurance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:27:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27642085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2Atoms/pseuds/13atoms
Summary: Prompt: Neck kisses
Relationships: Count Orlo / Reader
Kudos: 16





	You Won't Lose Me

You were reading on the bed, already dressed for dinner atop the covers, when Orlo entered your room silently. The creak of the door was the only indication he had even arrived, his feet treading carefully and his voice mute until he climbed onto the sheets beside you.

Without warning he trapped you beneath him, his face warped with silent tears, his lip trembling as he hid his face against your shoulder.

You sighed, your book already set aside and your shoes kicked off to tangle your legs with his, doing anything to give him comfort. This was happening more and more lately.

You took his hair down from its tie, allowing him to grab a handful of your dress as he clung to you and began to sob against your chest. For long minutes, you just let him cry. Perhaps it was a tribute to his loyalty, or the tragedy of his lonely existence at the palace, that you knew no other person would ever see him to raw and broken down like this.

“I want to leave,” Orlo choked into your neck, his voice to thick with emotion you feared he would hurt his vocal chords and never speak again.

You hummed, stroking the back of his head, his long hair ruffling as you pulled your fingers through it. His cheers were wet with tears, and you could only assume it was a product of some hurtful thing Peter had said to him. Or Marial, or Catherine. The list of people who seemed set upon needling at his fragile sense of self worth seemed unending.

“What do you mean?” you prompted quietly, wrapping your arm around him in a hug to untangle a knot you’d found in his hair.

His body shifted where it rested on yours, and he steadied himself, keeping his face pressed firmly to the intimate curve where your shoulder turned to neck.

“I can’t do this. The… the coup. The lying. It is dangerous. And stupid.”

You remained quiet for a moment, waiting to see if the man had more to get off his chest. He stayed mute, but you could feel the gentle labouring of his chest as sobs pulled at his heaving lungs.

“You wanted a better Russia,” you reminded him, “for everyone.”

He shook his head petulantly against you, stubborn and silent like a child having a tantrum, and you released his hair to hug him tightly.

“It’s selfish, I suppose,” he mused into your shoulder, his voice still strained from emotion, “but I just want to leave. To retire. I have a perfectly nice estate lying dormant and we could go and –”

“Think of everything you’ve worked for.”

Orlo fell silent for a moment, but he turned his head towards you, your breath freezing in your chest as he pressed his lips to your neck.

“I am thinking of all I have to lose,” he admitted.

“You won’t lose me.”

“We have no way to know that. I am being reckless. Stupid. Peter _knows_ how much you mean to me, and you would be the first way he would punish me were we discovered, and Catherine can be so _reckless_ and I know she thinks me too weak willed for this. Naïve or not, I fear she is right.”

The weight of him on your body had gone from comforting to slightly painful, and you shifted until he lay beside you on the bed, his head still resting on you but your bodies separated. His eyes were puffy with tears, both of your clothes rumbled and your dress wet with tears.

As soon as you separated, you reached out to hug him again.

“I would never blame you for anything that happened to me, you know that? I trust you.”

“I assure you, that only makes things worse,” he told you through a watery smile, “I just want to keep you safe.

“We could go to my estate. Have… children and, and live comfortably, and none of the stupidity of court… we would not have to live every day in fear of our lives.”

It sounded nice, it really did. You nuzzled your cheek to his softly, knowing you’d hate to taste the salt of tears on his lips if you kissed him, and he sighed.

“Peter could still find you, Orlo. You would have duties, still.”

Deflated, he pulled your hips to his, laying his head back on the pillows, his face further away from yours.

“I know, love. He’d never let me leave.”

Orlo looked ready to protest, arguments formulating and defeating themselves in that busy head of his. Eventually he just huffed, laying onto his back, tears still fresh on his face.

“I am so proud of you,” you told him, hooking one leg over his.

You’d swapped positions now, your body on his, your lips hovering over his neck. Delicately you moved his collar down and he twisted his head, shivering as you touched the skin beneath.

“You do brave things every day, for the sake of this country. I would love to run away with you. But not before you’ve done the thing you’ve worked your whole career for.”

As you spoke your lips brushed against the sensitive skin of his neck, your hips pressed to his as you got closer to him. His tears had stopped, and his breath was ragged for a different reason as his lips parted and his chest rose and fell, his hands reaching to caress your body.

You kissed his neck, and he groaned, a sinful, low sound which told you you’d successfully wrenched his mind away from his stresses. He stopped you to kiss the crown of your head, before your fingers began working on the fiddly buttons down his front.

He’d walk into the coup meeting with Catherine the next morning ready to do whatever it took, building a better Russia for the people he loved, and the country he served.


End file.
